Alternate Universes
by Matter Falls
Summary: Even if the world would be turned upside-down, or even if they lived in a different universe; fate always wanted them together. 2nd Matter: Holly would never have thought she would be in this particular position, with the one-and-only thief, Fowl, holding her like this live in national television. Root would kill her for sure. (Finally Edited. New Author's Letter to be noticed.)
1. 1st Matter: Kicking Crimes

**Inspired By: **My love for Magic Kaito, (it's an anime series, watch it~) and my OTP, KaiAo. (KAITO AND AOKO 4EVER!)

**I dedicate this chapter to the reviewers, followers, and.. favorite-rs of The Future At Its Best, you guys make me so happy. So, so happy. Thanks so much! ***offers mentos*

* * *

Alternate Universes

**Kicking Crimes**

She was a police officer.

The first female on the recon.

An absolute, unyielding and gallant lady.

The top of her class.

The adverse of typical females.

But she was no ordinary officer.

She was Holly Short, captain of the LEP units, and the thieves' primary numero uno enemy.

And yet-

_No one_ would dare to piss off the baddest cop in town.

Well, no one except for him.

* * *

He was a thief.

The legendary phantom that roamed into the nights.

A cunning, deceitful and impish young man.

The Arsene Lupin of the century.

The envy of all men.

But he was no ordinary thief.

He was Artemis Fowl, international famous criminal, and the most wanted suspect due to his previous heists that contained few of the most impossible ways a man could have _ever _escape.

But then-

_No one_ would be foolish enough to face the culprit.

Perhaps, apart from her.

* * *

"What?"

Commander Root rubbed his temples again for the umpteenth time today. It was already pestilential enough to sit on a chair the whole day to bark unintentional (and simple-to-understand, step-to-toe) orders at his retarded officers, who can't seem to get a thing or two without them wetting on their pants. So truth to be told, that Commander Root was a tad thankful for the unnecessary accomplishment that Holly had demonstrated unlike her colleagues. But a shrieking Holly was twice more irking than the former.

The commander gave Holly a look.

"This will be the_ last_ time I say this." He said firmly.

Holly nodded, her ears perking up as the moment of truth would be finally revealed.

Again.

And again.

..and again.

"You have been assigned to lead the task force. Particularly.."

_Say it. _

_Please let it be. _

"That damn thief, Fowl's."

"_YES!"_

"YES! YES! YEEEEEEES! Just.. just.. _**YES!**_"

Holly was so happy that she directly tackled the commander mercilessly and hugged him until he was turning purple. (And due to the commander being… _attacked _by such manner, he was purposely thrown off his black-leather office chair. Shame, much?)

Of course, the commander always turned purple, mostly due to his anger.

But this time, it was different.

".._H...Holly..!" _

"Commander Root, I- Oh."

Both heads turned to find Corporal Grub Kelp gaping at the doorway, with his jaw dropped and his eyes widened that it may have fell off its sockets in a minute or so.

"_..Oh."_

_That _was how shocked the corporal was.

Holly raised an eyebrow at him while the commander swore he would never ever let another female join the recon after this.

But, apparently, Holly was special.

"U-Uh..." Grub struggled for words. But seriously, he just _couldn't_.

It was a mere fact that making Grub Kelp walk into the duo like this and making him misunderstand was already bad enough, (for Grub was a gullible old' fellow.) it was much more worse now that Trouble Kelp, his brother, had already joined in the gaping.

"I never knew you two had this kind of relationship..." Trouble trailed off, the awkwardness of the situation reaching his cheeks. But that was not even compared to the uneasiness the corporal was feeling.

Grub wanted to wet on his pants.

_So badly._

Such shame should be forgiven once the situation was explained detailed-ly-ish.

But then— were rumors (if ever created and saved from the fury of the situation's handlers) meant to be fashioned and styled in such a manner that was cautiously (and doubly, if ever so) worth to be called _detailed?_

Lily Frond would have explained it all.

_In a fast-mouth-gibbering spectacle of whatnot of the history of premium office-gossiping. _

Back to reality, shall we, gents?

Holly leaped out of the commander, completely oblivious to the situation and awkwardness the Kelp brothers were having.

"In your_ face_, Trouble!" exclaimed Holly, as she stood on the commander's desk, pointing a finger at the older Kelp.

Trouble blinked, stunned.

"W-What?"

"I'm on lead at the task force! On _Fowl's_ too!" Holly exclaimed proudly, for without a doubt, she had desired for the position with the knowing knowledge of the commander's.

Then again, who _did not_ even desire the place of where glory could have possible be arising?

_Only cowards, actually. _

Trouble nodded slowly, well, that would explain everything. While Grub, hearing the thief's name, shuddered violently.

And all misunderstanding was forgotten.

"But, commander!" Trouble whined. (Like a cute and pouty little child, without a single damn in the whole galaxy) "Why _Holly!?_"

Holly frowned at him. "What do you mean, _why me?_"

Root sighed and fought the urge to rub his temples; Trouble Kelp and Holly Short were the only two officers that dared to do what they want in front of him. As said earlier, the other officers were scared out of the heck of the commander.

Including Grub (who was innocent as a baby and characterized as a softy by his colleagues, and fellow officers).

"U-Uh... guys? This isn't the perfect place for you two to bicker..." said Grub nervously, as he tried to stop his brother and friend from getting into another fight.

They always fought, anyway. (Not seriously, though. They were far too mature for that nonsense)

"Commander, you could've chosen me!" shrieked Trouble, pointing to his chest proudly. "I'm more likely to catch that good for nothing thief than... _her!" _He pointed at Holly.

"Are you saying I'm not good enough?" Holly challenged.

"Hey! I didn't say that." Trouble crossed his arms and smiled innocently. "I'm just saying I'm better than you."

Holly frowned, but she was not even slight pissed, Trouble was her (perhaps you could call it—) college friend, and they always bickered, up until now. "No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"No, you're not."

"Yes, I am."

"No, you're not!"

"Yeah, I am!"

"Not!"

"Am!"

"Not!"

"A-"

"_That's it!" _Commander Root loomed over the three occupants in his office. "Out! Out, now!" and then he efficiently shooed them out.

Trouble pouted and glared at Holly. "I could have convinced him."

"But you didn't!" said Grub, as Holly's arms swung itself on Grub's shoulders.

"See? Even Grub agrees that I should be in lead!" said Holly, smirking at Trouble's _troubled _face.

No pun intended.

"Holly." Trouble sighed. "We all know how dangerous that thief is."

Grub and Holly's mouth formed an 'o' shape. As if understanding what Trouble's true intentions were now.

"He's so dangerous that he even has his own task force." Trouble twitched. "Can you believe it?"

Holly nodded. "Yeah, I can." She then proceeded to pump her chest. "And I'm leading it."

Trouble sighed. Again. Holly was a stubborn person.

_A very, very _stubborn person.

"Very well then, _captain." _Trouble mocked her, sticking his tongue out. Holly did the same. While Grub did the same too.

And the three of them looked like blithering idiots.

* * *

"Captain!" One of the officers assigned in the task force called for Holly's attention, in which she gave it right away.

"What is it?" Holly could tell that from the look on the officer's face, the news he was about to give was urgent.

"Fowl gave a notice letter."

Holly almost choked on her coffee, but quickly wiped her mouth with her sleeve. "W-What?" She glared at the officer. "Why didn't you tell me sooner!?"

The said officer whimpered in fear, wanting to get away as soon as possible, he said in a quick tone- "Youweretoobusydrinkingcoffeeandeveryoffierneedshi scoffeeandyoumightkillmeifIdusturbyourcoffeedrinki ngand- MEEP!"

The officer shrieked as Holly pinched his arm, silencing him by her intense hazel orbs.

It was a rumor that once you gazed at Captain Short's eyes, you are unable to tell a lie.

Seems that it was true.

"Tell me." Holly furrowed her brows. "Where the heck did you guys find this?"

The officer that was currently gazing at the captain's eyes swallowed his suddenly dry throat, and tried to break the contact, but it was no use.

(_Of course, it wasn't!_)

"F-Fowl…" he gulped, scared at the mention of the mere criminal's name. "Fowl always leaves his letters at his heists, or sometimes, just at the desk of our c-colleagues."

Holly nodded. That would explain it.

"Wait…" Holly raised her brows at the officer. "And you guys never caught him even _once?_"

The officer bit his lip, as if choosing his words carefully. "Y-Yes, we did try. But the one delivering the letters were not h-him."

Holly raised her brows higher, indicating for further explanation.

"Instead, it was a- a monkey."

..What?

_What?_

"A monkey?"

Holly gave the officer the flattest look anyone could have gave.

The officer felt his ego drop.

Ouch.

"Y-Yes, a monkey. A tiny one."

After the tensed silence, Holly finally sighed and broke the contact between her and the officer. The officer wasted no second and saluted her before scampering away, whimpering.

Holly just watched the officer run away with one thought in her mind-

"_I'll get you, Fowl."_

* * *

A huge crowd was found encircling the massive clock tower of the city's famous plaza, coincidentally centering it over the several of buildings and shops found in the known area.

_The lights of the city blinked as several of different kinds of cars drove by, and as the city lights glowed from their different positions, enhancing the beauty of the city, as their light and glow poured down every curve and shadow shown. _

Apart from the daily and normal citizens that were in the brimming crowd, several different investigators, officers and detectives were confronted by different reporters with their fellow cameramen asking them if this was finally the night they would capture the applauded phantom thief.

Well, apparently most of them were confident.

The officers pumped their chests proudly at the mention of the question, it had been a rumor that the former well-known inspector in charge of the task force had chosen the comfort to retire and finally take a break from all the crimes that were made by the one and only Fowl, and it seems that tonight was the night to prove if the rumor was true.

And essentially, it was.

"Captain Short, our request had been granted to proceed to the exhibit."

The reporters and anchor (WO)-men hastily shot their heads to turn in the direction of the voice, were their ears deceiving them? Or were they really facing the matter of reality here?

They guessed not.

_Her auburn crew-cut was neatly laid down on her shoulders as it has always been, seemingly un-styled and yet fathom-ably curved down to the nape of her neck, as the soft breezes of the night wind caressed the fringe on her forehead tenderly, seemingly to give more (or much, no less) spotlight and aroma as the dangerously beautiful Captain, Holly Short._

One of the reporters nudged his fellow partner forward to the deathtrap, (or should they say, Captain Short?) which was a blissfully wrong idea, as to say, that the Captain's aura was more fiery than usual as she barked down orders to her officers, shouting out different positions and whatnot in order to (assumed, maybe?) catch that good-for-nothing thief.

Most still doubted.

While the rest were already betting _against _and _with_ the former and latter.

Well, _if _there was a former and latter.

"Hey, who do you think is going to win this time?"

"Tough choice. Captain here isn't that much of a girly."

"She's a fighter, man. I swear- have you watched that Live Cop Battle? Short was—"

"I'm not sure, Fowl puts up a pretty good beater too- remember what he did to poor old Kelp?"

"Trouble?"

"No." One of the people in the crowd shook their heads. "I mean Grub, Grub Kelp. The corporal. I heard he got a pretty terrible trauma because of that little _incident._"

"Couldn't blame him, Fowl is a nasty one."

Holly twitched as the crowd— (or should she say Fowl's _audience._) — continued to babble on without a single damn about the situation that was offhand and the event the officers were currently in, but she had only half the reason to blame it all to the bitter taste of ugly publicity as half (and maybe most) of the other went straight onto Fowl.

See? She said to herself, growling. This was one of the things she hated about Fowl, ever since she was still an amateur trainee, she would be one of those people who would be in that crowd, under the same old clock-tower, and intently watched as Fowl pulled another heist and made a fool out of the task force that wholeheartedly dedicated their whole lives into catching him, but over and over again failed miserably because of the impossible ways Fowl just made possible every time he pulled _something._

And the question that developed ever since she watched his heists was- _How? How? How? And- _

_Why?_

Odd, really. Because in most matters, Fowl would simply snatch the desired object, (jewels, art, money. Whatever, so) and place it back to its belonging place, as if it _wasn't _even the thing he was looking for.

_If _he was looking for something.

He would throw (_return_) everything back to its place, and shook his head in mild disappointment. Of course, Holly was the only one who intently watched closely enough to realize that he was _frowning, pouting, sighing, wrinkling his nose, twitching his hands, biting his lips-_ and so on and so forth.

So it was no surprise there that Holly had finally got the position she deserved to be- Lead officer and in charge of Fowl's Task Force.

"I agree that he's nasty, but he's pretty cute too, isn't he?" One of the girls giggled uncontrollably at the mention of the mere comment the other had suggested.

While Holly, on the other hand, shuddered so violently that one might have think she was suffering from an illness or a possible incurable disease. But _no,_ Holly hearing the high-pitched squeals and sickly girly voices of- ("_Fowl is so sexy! I hope I get his autograph!" "Do you think he would like it if I use this-") —_ Fowl's _fan girls, _and oh gosh, the horror Holly gets every time she always comes across the bewildering thought.

Fowl has his own _fan girls._

It was unbelievable, really! Holly frowned, making her way to the marble staircase, while shooing out another bothersome reporter, (and also making a few short barks at her officers) how could Fowl even get someone to _adore _him? Quite the opposite treatment was supposed to be given to him, the bliss of adoration and admiration was not suited for a silly thief like him! He already had the fame, and undoubtedly, the fortune, wasn't stealing the people's trust was far too troublesome enough?

And clearly cliché and ironic to the highest levels.

Holly would never even have thought that _fangirls _were real up to this point— where half the population of the crowd down there, (waving their posters like this was a rock concert or some sort, and flashing up their cameras and cell phones, why can't Fowl just steal from there?) were his precious little admirers, waiting for him to sweep them up their feet and woo them with his _classy-like, suave, cunning and mysterious _Fowl_ style._

Oh Joy.

What fun.

"Captain." One officer, (who chose the happiness to be led by the representatives of the Internal Affairs) approached Holly reluctantly as she gazed back and used the infinite power of her eyes on the unlucky soul.

Remember the rumor, Holly.

The officer gulped, and soon found, again, the _happiness _to stare at his shoes as his toes (whom no one can see but he can obviously feel) wiggle and fiddled with each other.

Holly raised her brows, and looked at her wristwatch, before narrowing her eyes dangerously at the clock, as if it would make time stop.

No, it only made it tick faster.

"What is it?" Holly asked impatiently, eyes still gazing at her wristwatch before making a quick glance at the officer who was still fiddling his toes. (She didn't know that, duh)

The officer gulped but chose a (not-wise-yet-smart) decision to tell the fiery captain right away and get this over with than to waste her time and face her wrath.

"Well, c-captain." He swallowed a sudden lump in his throat and mustered all the bravery he could gather to keep himself from stuttering. "All the officers and lieutenants had gone to their stations."

"What about the helicopters?" It was necessary. "Are they already on position?"

"All in their stations; in B4 area of Dublin's clock tower aced on the rooftop of the art exhibit. And Sir Foaly is already checking on the CCTV cameras."

Foaly was the technician (and technical supervisor) in the recon, and possibly of the whole Units, (yes, he was _that_ a big achiever) and had been specially assigned to monitor Fowl's heists on further clues to find out more information about him.

Holly inwardly snorted at that, had he ever noticed that Fowl had that gleam of disappointment in his face whenever he would return a precious artifact that he would-have-should-have-stolen but ended up returning?

No.

No, he didn't.

But the matter of truth was that no one had ever even s_een _Fowl's face before. Because apparently, his face was covered by a top hat and a black mask, to obviously hide out his appearance from the police.

And the fan girls.

Holly would think the second explanation as to why he's hiding his appearance would make more sense than the first one.

"Good, good." She muttered slowly, while adjusting her earpiece. "Tell him to monitor everything once again."

"Yes, captain."

And the officer trailed away from her in a stiff (yet relieved) manner.

Holly had always wondered why Fowl would do such things as to return what he stole, but essentially, they _still _had to catch him because he still had stole a lot of valuable artifacts and things that _were really not supposed to be stolen, _and he had even violated a multiple of rules including breaking into galleries and various museums willy-nilly. This was very ridiculous.

Holly looked at her wristwatch again and frowned, the people didn't know that Fowl gave notice letters to the officers, and the officers tried (and intended) to keep this a secret from the public as to it would really become quite annoying and irksome when found out indeed. (They most especially tried their best into keeping Lily Frond's mouth from blabbering its way to the paparazzi) Ugh.

Fowl's notice letters were not of a simple poem, nor riddle, nor note that details all the things that needed to be detailed. (They weren't complicated much either) But it was composed of just classy black ink smitten over with fine, graceful cursive lines that were etched on the fancy looking (and smelling) paper, with his signature _Fowl _on the bottom of every note. (Just like a memo pad)

Which was very much Fowl-like.

Tonight, he simply stated on his note that he would come and attempt to steal the largest topaz of the southeast. The _Glowing Verge. _

Holly had always wondered why diamond's (or jewel's) names were so… weird, but just off-handedly shrugged it off as if it was not a big deal at all.

Oh, but it _was _for a certain thief.

Apart from what he was going to steal, Fowl had stated that he would arrived at exactly 9:00 pm, and due to the observations to his previous heists, Fowl _always _arrives right on time.

_Always._

And yet it was already one minute till 9:00 pm and he _still _has not arrived, nor were do any signs of the gentleman thief.

Holly fought the urge to move on ahead without the further notice (or supervision) of the team, (and Commander Root's) she had already gotten into enough trouble in her days in the recon, this was her big chance to prove that she could handle that annoying thief.

So she waited patiently.

Well, perhaps not that patient.

_For Holly Short was _not _a patient girl._

"Is he here yet?"

"_Gosh, Holly, be patient."_

Holly twitched; she knew that voice that was coming from her earpiece too well.

"Foaly." She tested. "Can you hear me?"

Holly could imagine Foaly's deadpanned face.

"_You hurt me, Holly, you really do."_

Holly laughed, and tapped her wrist. "Oh? I can do that literally too, you know."

"_Of course, you can."_

Thanks to the conversation being held at the moment, neither of the two most important persons of the task force noticed that it was already 9:00 pm, and they also haven't noticed the tall black appareled figure standing on the rooftop of the very opposite building from across the street.

Fowl had arrived.

* * *

_His top hat swayed effortlessly and steadily at the night wind's careless gust__, the mask firmly plotted to fit his well-chiseled and curved face, curving around the unknown color of eyes of the criminal mastermind and delicately falling as a sharp-edged twist, with the uncanny similarity of an eagle beak, at the bridge of his nose, as if this was all but a mere play that needed its protagonist to walk in and woo the fretful and dared-whimsical-end audience that were, expectedly, waiting for the hero under the magnificent and grand clock-tower. Their hero…_

But he wasn't even one.

He chuckled at the idea. Him? A hero? No way in this universe.

Perhaps in another one, though.

_His heedless __and seemingly-yet-coordinated steps reechoed in the ever so breathtaking slightly silence of the night, his home, his place, where he _belonged.

The night.

He wasn't called a phantom thief for no reason.

_In his line of sight, he could clearly see his beloved crowd anxiously waiting for him to pull off another entertainment or amusement of some sort of for merely used enjoyment. His parents would be so proud at him, or not. Perhaps he should stop and settle in for—_

He waved the idea off, sending it scampering away on the deepest depths of his wild mind and left hidden inside (sadly—) the locked chest of his imaginations, where childhood seemed nothing but a timely pest for him, only suitable as to wait patiently for it to pass away until he could find the heart to dwell on it, later on.

Fowl didn't even have a heart, in terms of speaking. Not literally (duh).

_The young gent breathed in the intoxicating smell of the freshly made nightly wind, his hair shown barely enough only if the gaze shifted to his ears, as he played with gentle fingers, a book— a particularly, and abnormally tiny book that hindered clasped in the gentle embrace of his fist, fingers twitching ever so lightly at the feel of fluttering of pages that kept on chanting—_

_Read me, read me, read me—_

Oh, ha-ha, no.

He was already perfectly insane enough.

"_Artemis?"_

Fowl smiled at the voice (and the mention of his _real_ name. Gasp.), and adjusted the hidden earpiece found on his ear.

"Yes, Butler?"

"_It's time." _

And he drifted off through the night sky, his cape flailing wildly behind, as he crashed into the windows of the grand gallery and began another wild goose-chase with his favorite officers.

* * *

"Damn you, Foaly! Just… just… fu-"

"_Jeez, calm down, Holly!" _Foaly said, rubbing his temples tiredly from the other line, his swiveled and raven black chair complete with, now, the form of different kinds of lumps and bumps, thanks to his fidgeting and moving. He seemed to take all of his ferocity on the poor expensive furniture.

Poor, poor, furniture.

"_It wasn't _my_ fault that you were distracted!" _

"_Me?"_ Holly snorted, while running as fast as her legs could carry her, (which, by the way, was _really _fast) all the while adding various actions as to jump, hop, skip and just _anything _to get to her destination faster.

"Well, excuse _me_, Foaly, but I wasn't the only one who was distracted!" She glared at one of the innocent CCTV cameras that were placed firmly against a hidden pot, passing it by with a short huff before running like a tiger again.

Rawr.

"_I know, I know…" _

Holly growled, and made a leap to the stairs, cursing all the way as she broke off into another run.

And a leap. A hop. A skip. And a very impressing somersault.

Pause and rewind to what happened earlier— due to the conversation the two friends were having a minute ago, and their great concentration on their own action, they had not noticed the sound of breaking glass, followed by the sound of more sirens whistling and the various uproar of the disconcerted audience that had just witnessed Fowl's _awesome _entrance.

Girls squealing. Men cheering. Children clapping. Polices running. Reporters reporting. Detectives fainting. Cameramen filming. Investigators investigating. Grub bawling. Root fuming. Trouble troubling. And Fowl… fowling.

And stealing and laughing and grinning and smirking and mocking and running and leaping and _making fun out of all of the officers. _

Holly grinded her teeth and made another beeline (and somersault. Ha-ha.) And when she reached the door of her destined destination-

It was too late.

For Fowl had already grasped the jewel tightly in his hands and was about to throw a smoke bomb.

And he did.

Then everything went blurry.

* * *

Smoke covered the whole gallery like mist on a foggy day, which made it twice the point on how _smoky _everything was, no officer could see and Fowl resisted the urge to laugh when he heard the bumping of heads and the cries of pains of, "Aw! My foot!" but instead had used his 'goggle' option on his mask, that abled him to use the said choice without the removing of his disguise, to inspect the extravagant jewel he was grasping.

(As the goggles, thanks to Butler, were designed to able to see on this misty play, and so thankful as he was, he would not be able to waste his time any longer, even if he wanted to play with the retarded officers of LEP much further.)

_The Glowing Verge stood obediently on his palm, and made the slightest grim of a faint twinkle when positioned in a matter or angle, or light, as so. The mini yellow crescents that were embarked in the topaz beamed ever so brightly as Fowl caressed his thumb over the pointed sides, and lingered on the edge and glazed all way to the tip._

Fowl loved jewels, (but he liked gold much more) but he had to make sure if this jewel was the one he was looking for, oh how he ought to see the day he would _finally_ get his hands on the fated jewel, the one and only jewel that was rumored to tell him the secrets of the unknown world that was lost on the very bottom of the Earth's mightiest core, forever hidden unless found out, knowledge beyond his grasp unless dug deep, the impossible-yet-possible theory that no one had ever thought of making.

The world of fairies.

The mere reason, really, as to why he was doing all this was to avenge his father's death.

_Death,_ Fowl shook violently at that word. _No, my father is only missing. Only missing. That is all._

Fowl's father had gone missing for quite some time now, leaving only a prediction that _he might be dead. _But Fowl was far too much clever to fall for that trick, and stumbled across a hidden room, as to where he had presumed was his father's study.

_The dust that had settled to almost everywhere was beyond the conclusion that it was locked up and hidden from the world until this very day, who would have thought… _

In there, Fowl had discovered a theory unknown, a theory impossible, a theory that would change the human race's life forever.

His father's theory of a different kind of species living underground.

It was said that one of the biggest jewels in the world held a small acorn inside their very core. Yes, an acorn. In which the acorn would be fully seen when the jewel it's inside in is being shone against the light of a full moon. But as said that there was only one gem that held the object, it was worth a try if one could discover the secrets of the fairies. And so here Fowl was, ten years later, shining one of the largest jewels against the beam of the full moon.

Crazy, one would think. Foolish and beyond idiotic and dare others say— stupid, too?

_That's why…_

Fowl, no, _Artemis _thought as he placed the topaz against the shining beam of the moonlight (_that was bewitchingly formed into a full moon…_) _That's why I need to know if… _and as he was going to see if _it _was there, a sudden action caught him.

Well, very thanks to his quick reflexive movements, the hand that was _about_ to grab him had, primarily, missed him, but only by an inch as it was also a haste movement.

Artemis raised his brows and, thanks to his mask that abled the ability to see through the smoke, was able to make out the owner of the hand.

_The auburn-haired girl's hands went forth to back and from back to forth, her lips quivering at the different slight blemishes she had earned due to her idiotic officers bumping into her and stepping on her foot, her head tilting from side to side as she tried to get the mist off from reaching into her vision, her hazel eyes blazing through the foggy semblance that that good-for-nothing thief had brought with him, but as she continued to struggle like a blind person, she still continued to, at least, perhaps look for him (not preferably look, but touch.). Cautiously using her ears to possibly hear if there were any signs of Fowl._

Little did she know that _Fowl_ was right in front of her all along, watching her with a very clear amused expression.

_This officer is new, _thought Artemis as he effortlessly ducked another attack from her again. According to Butler, he had heard that the former lead of the task force had quitted due to their previous episode when the poor inspector almost had a heart-attack due to Fowl disappearing out of thin air.

Poor inspector.

But Artemis stayed there in front of her, watching her mirthfully and unmoving, (of course he would move, though. Only a tad when it was necessary) and occasionally change his pace when she turned around.

She turned, he followed, always in front of her. She'd growl, he'd resist the urge to chuckle. Her officers might bump into her, he'd gently land a swift kick in that officer's gut.

"OUCH!"

See?

Holly on the other hand, (in case you still haven't realized it, was the one blindly trying to grasp Fowl) was having the most hardest time of her life, but felt a bit odd. Earlier, she was being bumped into and sandwhiched rather roughly by her (also, blind) colleagues, but now, she felt that she was the only one in the room, she hears voices, though. Mostly different exclamations of pains.

As if they got kicked in the gut.

And that was not the only odd thing.

She felt as though she was being watched.

Holly shuddered at that thought, but thought that it would be very ridiculous, who could even _see_ through all this smoke?

...

Static. She hears static in her ears, and thinks that maybe the thick smoke was finally getting into her mind, any moment— she's expecting herself to faint, but then again—**  
**

Static.

She hears static in her ears.

Holly widened her eyes in realization, she still had the earpiece on and Foaly was still there!

Let's just hope that he could see through all this smoke.

"Foaly? Foaly, can you hear me?"

_"...Duh."_

Holly breathed a sigh of relief and stopped on her tracks. (causing the person who was following in front of her and had been curious to hear her, assumingly, talking to herself, to abruptly stop too. Not before casting a quick kick on the chest of another officer who was walking blindly behind them.)

"OUCH!"

_"Holly, Holly, it's Fowl! Fowl's there!"_

Holly raised her brows. (but it was practically invisible, anyway.) "Fowl? Fowl was the one who said 'ouch'?"

The man named Fowl tensed suddenly. _What the.. _he thought— but with a strange round of found curiosity as he examined Holly closer, could she see him? But then again, was she even talking to herself?

_"What? No. Holly, listen to me—"_

"Wait." Holly clarified. "You can _see_ there?"

_"Not really." _said Foaly impatiently. _"Only the silhouettes, but I can tell it's you two. Fowl, obviously, because of the top hat and all."_

Holly nodded. That was close enough.

_"Holly- oh my gosh, look at what's he doing, ah-" _

Another cry of pain was made.

_"He's like kicking everyone's guts." _

"Kicking everyone's guts?"

Artemis, after kicking that unfortunate officer's gut, had assumed that Holly had a earpiece clipped to her ear, and smiled knowingly because he found out that he was right. But this wasn't how he expected things to go at all, and knew that he had to take the earpiece away from the girl.

He was confident that who she was talking to right now was LEP's techny, Foaly, whom he had crossed paths with when he had made his ninth heist.

Aaah, memories.

Artemis smiled his signature vampire-like smile. He was dauntless that the smoke was so thick that no CCTV camera was able to get their appearance, and only silhouette, because, of course, it was him, himself, that had created the smoke.

He makes his own bombs and whatsoever.

_"Holly, listen to me, Fowl can see through the smoke, it seems like his mask has this goggle effect when being selected as an option." _

"Clever." Holly said dryly.

_"What do you expect, it's Fowl. I don't know why he keeps on standing there an— oh my gosh, Holly! Move back! Move back!" _

And so Holly did, very alertly and hastily, that Artemis almost thought she could see him, but twitched his lips when she _can't, _because it was all because of the earpiece.

_That's why it should go. _

Artemis reached for Holly's ear again, but Foaly beat him to it.

_"Holly— duck!" _

And so she did, and Artemis grabbed nothing but air. (or smoke, for the matter.)

Artemis blinked, and suddenly found all this to be amusing.

Holly was not amused at all.

While Foaly found this very much related to a video game.

_"Left, Holly!" _Holly turned left, _"Right, right! Then back down a little." _She did so, as Fowl's hand brushed against hers.

They both withdrew it back.

_And in the midst of the mystical mist that surrounded the duo, accompanied by the gentle sparkle of the luminous litted rays of the full moon that had bestowed upon the two as they danced, well, sorta danced as their feet shuffled from left to right, back and forth and as their knuckles brush against each other's own. It was a strange feeling, actually. But strangely, it felt _right.

Right, a police officer and a thief.

Could this be considered as ironic?

But how, in what way could it possibly be?

Holly was getting tired of this, and felt as though the situation was very unfair, (as she dodged another movement from Fowl, since they were equally good at reflexes. Him being a thief and her being an officer and all..) Fowl could _see_, while Holly on the other hand had to depend on Foaly.

She, then, had a wondrous idea.

"Foaly." She said, hearing another choked scream coming from her right. (Fowl must have kicked him.)

_"Left! Left— Yes, Holly?"_

She turned left. "I got an idea, but I need you to tell me where Fowl's face is. Exactly where."

_"That would be easy." _Foaly said from the other line. _"He's barely moving, anyway, I think he's enjoying this."_

Holly's eyes twitched. Damn Fowl.

_"He's tall, actually, and I don't know where exactly his head is since his ridiculous hat is covering it- Move away, MOVE AWAY."_

Holly did so, as Fowl's fingertips brushed against her cheek, which oddly, sent a wave of quavers to pass throughout her spine.

"Just.. Just hurry up!"

And Foaly did so. He said where Fowl's head was, (warily and unsure) and Holly realized how tall Fowl was.

But this was not the right time to dwell on that matter.

Holly had stepped away from him, and Artemis found this behavior weird, but was soon silenced as a foot speedily collided with his face.

Holly had spin-kicked him.

And slowly, as though time had stopped, Fowl's top hat had fell.. fell down the floor, together with the Glowing Verge, but importantly...

His mask had fell down too.

* * *

**Hey, hey. Are you guys still alive?**

**A/N: **I'm kidding, I'm kidding! But well.. that was long, I like long chapters. They make it worthwhile every once in awhile, do you not think so too, ladies and gents?

I hope you love the story! Please review too. *offers mentos* In case you would review, please do tell me if I should make a sequel to this oneshot. (Is it even an oneshot?) Because _clearly_ this is still not the ending, and I was planning to finish this all in one chapter but my fingers are aching and I still have an appointment tomorrow. Tsk, tsk, tsk. (It's 3:05 am, and I have a busy schedule, mind you.)

Anyways, I'm MatterFalls, (call me Matt.) the next chapter (or the sequel to this oneshot) will be dedicated to the one who will find out how many puns I placed along the story, for example: "That doesn't _matter_." Yeah, so.. G'luck!

I'll also dedicate the next chapter to a random reviewer. (I'm in hyper mode right now. Means I ate too much mentos.) And I love reviews, they make me grin like a fool. (As if I wasn't a fool already—) F,F&R!

Au revoir.


	2. 2nd Matter: Of Names and Hostages

**Promptly dedicated to bkaddictjk for finding all of my prodigious puns, I have waited for this moment.**

**Well, perhaps not.**

**Anyways, enjoy and please do not get mad at me. There will be an important notice letter at the bottom of this chapter. Please have fun with the story and, afterwards, find the time to read the author's note. Merci. (And sorry, this was not proof-read or beta read or that. I was in a hurry to get to my tutor, so I shall fix it, aah, maybe in the later hours of the dewy-clad afternoon.)  
And, also, sorry for the late update; anyone wanna give me a warm welcome? A hug or some sort? *gets pebbled* Aah, I thought so. **

* * *

Alternate Universes

**Of Names and Hostages**

* * *

Artemis smiled.

_It was a weird and laconic swerve of the lips, but it was the first time in a lengthy expanse of allotment did he feel at a state of tranquil and accord._

And it was all because of the crew-cut styled female captain of the recon.

_Yes_, Artemis thought amusingly as he dodged another abrupt swing from the temporarily blind captain. It was weird, although, Artemis had consummate the climax of the rising action he had caused one week before. It was a poor abashment that the once-leader of the task force of Fowl had to quit because of the incident.

_And he was having so much fun with the inspector…_

It was an odd sight. Just minutes ago did he make his extravagant entrance to the grand abode of the Glowing Verge, and yet now he was under the brim of the dazed moonlight that had accompanied him for his dance of his new-found entertainment.

_But_, he thought in a lustrous light, _this individual is quite more gratifying than the rest_.

It was true.

_And he could not simply deny the enchantment._

(Who would even have the defiance to _not _acknowledge the uneven tresses of the woman, the slightly wide brow, and equally plump cherubic lips—?)

Artemis could not simply fathom what semblance of the individual that made him fall into the act of seduction; _Attraction. _It was not of what he had could have ever predict in the circumstances of the eminent museum of jewels and such. He desired for one; he is looking for one; he_ needs_ one desperately to prove that—_no_, his father is not dead. He's _alive—not dead, no, not dead, nu-uh._

"Foaly? Foaly, can you hear me?"

Then suddenly—the strange urgent-toned utterance that had appeared from the mouth of the girl he was so-called playing under the bright brim of the moonlight, ah, yes; Artemis almost forgot that he was with the woman, the strange woman that was most likely to be the newest inspector for his task force.

_Static… Static was heard._

A few words were exchanged—with Artemis just casually standing there, as if he was back in Paris; ah, yes, Paris, he missed the abode dearly.

_The freshly brewed-caffeine he had ordered, topped with cinnamon and sprinkled jazz of marmalade touch, as the cars went passing by him in the obscure speed of blurred glows of topazes and fireworks, with the glowing lights from the debris of the mild rain that had surpassed and enhanced the beauty of the semblance._

(But Early Grey will always maintain as his particular favorite.)

It was only on the stimulant of the time-being done the female captain caught his blue orbs did Artemis considerably—tense. It was on these rare moments that he had given the chance to acknowledge his doubts about the mission or current event that had been taking place due to his schemes and several of heists.

The boy was just a human, after all.

_Same raven strands, same sharp-blue eyes, same pale face, same hands—same long digits and slender articulated nails, same lips, same curved nose, same verbose legs._

(Same feelings that a human necessarily feels to a given stimuli—happiness, sadness, pain, anger—)

But he always keeps it all in a poker face, after all.

It was one of his father's teachings; his father was one of the greatest and absolute infamous criminals in the century before Artemis had essentially stole his throne—it was only because of one simple theory did Artemis learn to be the reason of the whole quandary to occur.

_(Fairies, acorns, gems, jewels, to organizations, and other unknown species—_

…_magic.)_

It was all dependably impossible for the conclusion that had been made.

But, at the same time, little Arty believed in his father—in his beloved and dear father whom he always talked business with—it was their bonding. What kept them intact and in terms of when they only took notice to the small little bubbling feeling that came up with the sprouting realization of the unique link the father and son both could ever have, it was that, it was final.

Until now, despite his father's abrupt and noticeable disappearance, Artemis still believed in his father.

_Like when parents tell their little children about Santa Claus—the one who leaves presents on Christmas day when the child is a good child, and is not on the naughty list. Believing in those joyous customs; the making of absconding burnt shriveled chocolate-chip cookies with huge glasses of pure, hot delectable homemade milk as snacks for jolly old Santa to digest, waiting oh-so patiently under the bright night of Christmas eve, as the pure white snow ebbs from the wild blue yonder above…_

It was weird—bizarre, even. But it was true. True and with emotions that both individuals could not find the need to unravel, for it was simply and beyond doubt the vehemence of the strong warmth that had been felt, that is, aah, keeping him from quitting. There was a lot to know; a lot of questions that are a must to be answered in order to be granted of satisfactory.

("Father, is Santa Clause a permanence to our world?" "Why, yes, Artemis; he's an elf, of course.")

So when Holly's eyes met his, (Blazing hazel with nipping blue.) Artemis had already worn his trustworthy poker face, whilst standing casually on the foggy-brimmed semblance of the museum room, with his usual incurious small smirk plastered on his masked face, it was unseen, logically, but he could not help the small quiver of the mouth to have stimulated the simple twitch.

(It was a good thing he could see through the mask—)

He had to do his calculations quick.

It was undoubtedly impossible for someone to see over this thick lounge of vaporous air he, Artemis himself, had made.

(Because it's _Artemis_.)

And so the closest thing that would have explained the sudden spurs of determination would be that the captain would have known where her primary target is—so why was she here in the first place?

_She was wearing a uniform—from the Recon, naturally. The new inspector badge clearly was shown sparkling and broad on the angle of her breast-pocket. A new-found pride in women and envy in men, ah, yes, she's the new inspector for the task force, which obviously falls under the conclusion that she was here to find a particular someone…_

Artemis looked from right to left, feigning curious innocence.

Just kidding.

An abrupt movement had schlepped Artemis' focus back to the blind inspector. Aah, Artemis cocked a short smug grin at the evidence that had come punctually in time for the proof of his prediction.

The woman was wearing an earpiece.

There was no need to clarify. Adding the readings that had appeared a minute ago or so-on his high-tech mask, there was definitely a sensing of static somewhere in the building; be it from the bustling reporters outside the abode waiting for the recon officers to clarify of their misreading or demurrals, or the cameramen placing up their cameras and video techs to catch even a single glimpse of Fowl.

(_Those fools_—)

Artemis had caught on specks of the conversation that had obliviously occurred before him, from the negligent officer, but another one of those idiotic colleagues of hers were blindly walking (or limping) towards them, and Artemis had to resist the temptation to sigh loudly.

_It was a no wonder to the criminal that his smoke bomb would be of a success. Though, he could not do any better to lessen the feeling of annoyance when one bright invention came across the encumbrance of feeble-mindedness._

Artemis dusted off the edge of his top-hat that stayed obediently on its principal's head—serving as a mental guard, an inviolability trust, a merely costume-d defense—

_Little Arty remembers those little triggers of moments when his father would buy several of collections of hats. Tons and tons that were buried down his father's private basement, where one could have worth it an auction of a million prizes and whoops, but no, it was his father's and his father's only. It was truly fascinating, amazing really. Panamas, Stetsons, boaters, bonnets, bowlers, buckets, chapeaus, fedoras, sombreros, ten-gallons, toppers…_

(-Fowl is foul. Fowl is foul. Fowl is foul—)

_It was the second thing that he had always mentioned up and adored besides from his succeeding and conquering business; especially on days of even worth short breaks and warm mid-evenings, Senior Fowl would hum, his coat left forgotten on his leather bench, a relaxing and peaceful tune, as he toppled over his collection of hats and, every now and then, would turn to Little Arty, who was staring quite boringly at him and his collection of hats, and plop a top hat and make Little Arty wear it, despite it being big and covering his eyes._

_("It suits you, Artemis.")_

"Ouch!"

Artemis' amusement was on its top as he kicked every officer's guts as they came closer to him and his new-found play thing. It was, perhaps, in duty-calls with his sadistic half that became a pal to him ever since he discovered about the physical strength he never knew he had it in him until now, his era as the Phantom Night—Fowl. It was inevitable, but he could not simply ignore the urge and screams—the winces of the pathetic little officers. Hah.

_Partially true, partially false—it was a miracle he was able to survive this long. He was no differ in his real-life persona anyways; tall-clad raven sheet tuxedo, exclusively made for the young genius, which gives off little tiny Artemis figures striking from their owner; made to intimidate; made to be perfect; made to be him; made to be, also, like someone, partially, who was it—aah, yes, of course, made to be—_

(Just like his father.)

"Kicking everyone's guts?"

Aha. Artemis smiled knowingly. His assumption was correct.

As always; of course, it was always correct.

That matter done, it was now precise to what the objective Artemis would have to qualify for now. He gripped the Glowing Verge on his hand sternly and thought of the new discovery—this wasn't a part of the plan. His plan was to have proceeded on _borrowing_ Glowing Verge; check if it has the acorn, and then return it to its proper abode if it doesn't.

He didn't need jewels or gems on the contrary.

Because, as a matter of fact, Artemis was already a rich young lad; he was the heir to the most highest and regarded business corporations in the entire macrocosm, with high standards and rare, prized skills—who would want to go against the powerful man?

(And yet_, those fools_ have no idea who he was at night; he was twice more dangerous than he was at the exact moment his semblance had chosen to clad in those Victorian-dawn tuxedo, paired with a long majestic raven cape and, absolutely not deemed consign to oblivion, the top-hat.)

Where was the topic abide?

Aah, yes.

That dearly irksome earpiece must go away.

("Clever." Said the captain, dryly.)

Artemis shuffled to the side, as to one could not fathomable notice, and pressed on to take the earpiece away from the captain, when on the abrupt movement—the captain suddenly backed away from him, in perfect time one must further point out so. Artemis bit back a smirk; it was definitely absolute that the one having the secret conversation with the new inspector was none other than Foaly, their technician.

Artemis pursed his lips. He remembered the first time he came across his way to the genius techy.

Good times, good times.

Back to the climax.

Artemis reached out for the earpiece again that was clipped efficiently to the inspector's ear—but, conveniently, the techy had beaten him to it.

(_"Holly—duck!")_

And so the inspector did, quite swiftly and expertly so—granting Artemis to have clawed nothing except the prepped nightly gas that he had made himself to have caused him his victory of weighing escape.

_Oh no. The phantom thief was enjoying himself—he would have to wait a little bit longer._

Artemis dabbed his eyelids shut and commenced them open, grinning a lazy feline predatory-like smirk as he all thought of the clouded actions they were performing now to be, well, amusing.

For it was. To the thief; to the phantom; to him; to Fowl; to Artemis.

And it was emitting all from the prime source. From the captain; from the inspector; from her; from his new plaything; from—

Aah, Artemis suddenly dazed. (_Blue eyes snapping to the grand ceiling above his top hat lay.)_ I do not recognize her name.

And then he smirked.

_It was a simple twist of his mouth, pristine shoot dimples on the corners and brinks of his chin—innocence was to be plastered of his pale profile, but essentially that was not the case. Eyebrows tilted together in the form of a dangerous manner, nose held downwards, form performing to be as to a silhouette; dark. It was simple, really._

(Fowl is foul. Fowl is foul. Fowl is foul. Fowl is foul—)

It was all so very _amusing._

From the look of the inspector's face which was clouded by her amber crew-cut fashioned strands—she was not amused.

(Meanwhile, Foaly had related this game much to a video-game.)

Artemis stretched his leg wide enough for the unfortunate officer—who poorly couldn't see a thing on the smoke that had enclosed the whole room—to trip down and fall, tumbling as Artemis' leg sent it rolling on the grand concrete floor where it literally made the other officers who came across it to trip down and fall too—some hitting their heads, and some banging their figures to the floor in which they decided to stay there, or perhaps they literally fainted.

Artemis choked back a sinister chuckle.

_(The Recon cops of his own task force were so unbearably adorable.)_

Artemis sent his hand calmly flying through the smoke as he attempted to reach for the captain's earpiece again, but as he did that, the captain suddenly turned left—making Artemis miss.

Static was heard.

Artemis tried his other arm, and to his short-notice conclusion that he did not deny at all, the captain curved her figure to the right—backing down a little as Artemis clenched his digits together that encompassed the midnight smoke.

He smirked. She grunted.

_Their hands brushed against each other's…_

They both withdrew it back.

He raised an eyebrow. She made an irritated grumble.

_And at the heart of the museum, where the officers lay tumbling over and across each other, stood the most unlikeliest duo one had would have to witness, as the sparkling gentle-light azure glint of the moon mongrel itself with the dark sleek smoke—hands brushing, feet shuffling, smile quirking, mouth grunting—_

And other methods of their so-called dancing.

Artemis looked calm, but he was entertaining himself nevertheless, it was like playing with a cat. He thought. The inspector's ears were oddly vibrating, be it from static or her own unique body language, it reminded Artemis of a cat.

Yes, a cat, that was out of the graved subject.

Then, at the thought of grave subjects—one suddenly hit him right on his head.

_(Not literally, of course.)_

Artemis wonders that despite the situation he had been appraised of—if the current past conscience of what he _could-have-been-right-now_ was taunting him again.

_Again._

(_Yes. Again._)

Artemis has nightmares—_illusion, succubus, phantasm_—nightmares that cost him to wake up in the midnight dimmed-aura of his lonely pompous room of crumbled blueprints and scattered glasses, praying as his pale knees faint its way down to the disheveled matted floor of his quarters as the once-neat bed sheets of dark-royal and hued grey fall down with their master, in a light dab of sprinkled strands and temptations.

Fowl, the curtains pulsated with the whimper of the chilling intoxicating night air; the pulsing pant of the mid-blooming leaves smothered against the flute. Foul, the windowpanes creaked, in slow tears of marmalade honey; toxic yet smooth, yet too sweet and wrong—_in the verge of torment and pain, perhaps, like him_—Fowl, the stars that were once twinkling brightly were painted and abide by the _rum-pa-tam-tam_ dark-sued, swirling clouds. Foul, he reached for his glass—at least, attempted to, but like every night of the careless arouses of his horrifying escapades to his dreadful evenings, he would drop the glass due to his shaking digits—and watch it…

_Fall, fall, the glass is slowly falling—ah, mother will not like it if I keep on breaking the glasses—fall, fall, fall—_

Crash.

(—Fowl is foul. Fowl is foul. Fowl is foul—)

His top-hat fell down.

* * *

"D'Arvit, D'Arvit, D'Arvit!" Holly cursed shrilly as she forced her legs to climb up another fifty rows of steps; _D'Arvit _was a word Foaly and she invented in case they wanted to curse, cursing was inevitable, really; and as Recon cops, they should set up as good models for the population of people they needed to have come across to, even to those who not—Commander Root stated.

That was _bull_.

"_Wow, Holly,_" commented Foaly as he tapped on his computer rapidly, dragging his mouse all across necessarily random directions; clearly torturing it. "_Three curses in one minute, new record, eh?_"

Holly sneered and kicked off another boost of stairs. Seriously, how many stairs were there in this d'arvitting museum!?

A thousand.

Perhaps.

Maybe.

Mhmm.

"D'Arvit!" Holly dashed maniacally towards another set of stairs, her legs pumping—her arms swift and pulse beating like huge fists drumming against gigantic barrels of thousand liquors; her arms forging its way to the path of golden artifacts and shiny statues, and jewels, there were gems and bright blinking stones of twinkling props everywhere; careful to not let anything get hit.

Everything here was _priceless._

Literally, yes, mhmm.

She gritted her teeth as she sped towards the top, and to her disgrace, another set of steps were waiting gingerly for her to climb on.

(—it seems that, the world just despised her today.)

Great.

She heard a few horrible, squawking, high-pitched noises, oddly resembling one of a monkey's—only to turn around and find out all of her retarded colleagues struggling to all fit inside an elevator.

(Holly couldn't help but bang her head on the solid callous walls of the awe-inspiring museum of Dublin.)

It hurt.

_With her hair lashing behind her back, she ventured several of steps to reach her way to the top floor; her hair was sticking towards her forehead and slow satin sweat was buckling its way down her eyebrow, but it didn't matter, not now. Not ever. Her wheezes were turning into vapor-like crystal brims of tiny lights; bright as the moon's golden ray embraced it; bright like the other of countless of shining diamonds each obediently standing crisply on their positions; bright like the gold polished floor of oak and plump-gold, slippery as she slid from her toes to the balls of her feet—careful to not trip._

Fowl was on the loose.

One must be precisely curious as to when it happened for earlier moment had only proved everything had been alright to the scene.

(—everything was set. _She was so close_.)

That is, until Holly's wondrous idea came intact.

Oh yes, it was a very _wondrous idea_, Holly! Foaly had said as he banged his head over his computer keyboard over and over again.

(—the documents on his monitor had abruptly went on like this—fcndidoorkddmsddohollyyouidiot)

But it sincerely wasn't.

A wondrous idea—she thought, well, it didn't end up as one. The prediction as entirely different from the outcome she was expecting—

After Holly had knocked down Fowl's top hat, he suddenly threw another round of smoke—a much thicker, and harder to get by version, only this time—the smoke was twice as foggy, and it certainly didn't help that the current smoke wasn't disappearing any time soon.

_Great._

Holly dashed to another steps of stairs—leaving her retarded colleagues trying to fit all inside the poor elevator that was used only for emergencies. It was a wonder, though, and Holly could not help but feel the slightest of urge to get back down there and yell to her retarded officers that there were probably more elevators to come by in the grand museum.

She doubted that they would listen to her, anyway.

(They were all too busy—like little ugly ducklings all quacking and whacking each other to get the bread; not noticing the more intelligent duckling—Holly—go off and peck off the other bread crumbs that lay on the corner of the pond.)

Plus—she thought, as a resounding pump twisted and reverberated itself on her ears—just one more step—one more step then she'll reach the rooftop; it was always the rooftop—where Fowl would escape. In his previous heists, he would always end his grand exit in either the three ways—crash outside through the windows, disappear, or on the rooftop where he'd fall and would seem to fly on that swirling cape of his flailing behind his back.

_Just one step more_—

The fiery and easily tempered girl remembers a spark—one tiny spark of mayhem and confusion; swirls and picture-perfect memories of like-was rainy-pad soft thudding noises of hail-like tears of clashes and dashes from the high sky above; it was raining—and she can't help but feel that the loud roar of the thunder is connected through her; through her veins and continue to outstretch through her pores, her cells—all in tunes of the splashes and tiny dribbles of verbal moist, and, her heart—

_(—a tiny spark, and—)_

She kicks open the door.

* * *

Lily Frond was known to be the mistress of office gossiping.

Just a tiny flicker of chords of "hey, can you keep a secret?" or "did you know—"s would send her yapping and chattering away to her most luxury of expenses; phone at hand, ready to attack and use her many loaded recons of juicy gossiping armies—all attacking and whooping their ways, destroying other people's subjects and blackmailing other people without mercy.

And what was it? Everyone was curious too; what was the motivation and past-timed reference of all her due-bliss-ed gossips? Her favorite topic—?

_To her sugary topics, to nonsense babbling, to Root's snores resounding and to blasphemy-worthy rumors—_

Ah, yes, none other than the infamous and unpredictable trio of blithering idiots!

Lily Frond snickered and hummed, as she spun gleefully on her desk chair, like a soft colorful range of blasting rainbow-d merry-go-rounds; she remembered the days as if it were just yesterday…

_Corporal Grub Kelp_—he was the odd gullible officer. Lily tapped her chin, before a memory began to resurface—there had been one of the spurs of moment where she caught him accidentally dropping his brother's toothbrush in the toilet bowl—of course, they've been staying out for the night in one of the cabins, ensuring the other officers for a night-out expedition mission, and on that time—it was midnight; being Corporal Grub, he deliberately was scared out of his own guts and, in a rush of panic, put his brother's toothbrush back on the sink.

(—it was hilarious; the amount of followers Lily got after that was totally worth tweeting for.)

_Trouble Kelp_—he was apparently the less childish one, and less mischievous one—if the situation calls for it, that least. Lily remembers one time when she walked in to the office to find Trouble holding something; aah, yes; a little creek on the door and he wouldn't even notice, odd, he was sly, alert even—but, Lily widened her eyes, the flush on her face growing at the juicy new topic—Trouble was cradling a _teddy bear _on his lap. Now, Lily along with the rest of the recon cops would have thought Grub was the baby; seems everyone's judgement was wrong.

(—it was especially established through the net; the recon had its own website. There was no mercy on the endless teasing on the following week later.)

And lastly, there had been _Holly Short_—Lily chewed her gums thoughtfully before slamming her hands at her office desk; correction applied to the notice—Lily had been striving hard to work up an awe-striking topic to woo the officers' judgement to Holly Short; as, perhaps, to prove that she wasn't tough than the public thought—but sadly, no one would even dare to make fun of Short—_no one_.

But she was her favorite topic, nevertheless. They were the trio of blithering idiots in Commander Root's case; the three who would always be stuck together—ever since long ago, they say; like storytellers from early eras, huddled up together in soft-spoken places of enchanting forests.

Lily Frond was the storyteller—the gossiper, the one who started all the rumors and the one who brought up the interest of brimming sparks.

The recon officers would be—could be—the knights; each all blindly chasing the evil dark sorcerer of Dublin, Root could be the king, aah, yes, the king—

Just then—her medieval thoughts of comparison between her silly officers and the said era was suddenly cut off as her phone began ringing, her ringtone for the caller alarming on who was it—it was playing the new theme song for that cute little game on android—she was being childish; she didn't care—"Dumb Ways to Die" could only mean trouble was calling.

(Oh, the irony.)

"Frond."

Lily smiled, and spun wildly on her desk chair again, before plopping down her shoulders on her mahogany desk and twirling a piece of her scented blonde hair; "Kelp," she said, and she could almost hear the twitch of his eyebrow from here; she giggles. "Trouble, mhmm? Ah, yes, and what do I owe the pleasure?"

From the other line, Trouble Kelp grunted. "Lily, just _please _drop off the issue."

Lily grinned; he was so straightforward. "No way," she puckered her lips and giggled—a high long chirp; melody and slyness; possibility? Lily Frond was the proof. "Give me one good reason why I should, Kelp."

She could tell he was getting annoyed; Trouble Kelp didn't want to talk to Lily, he wanted to get this over with so he could fuss over a certain crew-cut styled woman. "Lily—"

"_One good reason."_

Sighing was heard, "Um, because—"

"Because~?"

"Dammit, Lily!"

Giggling was heard—like on early mornings when you try to escape, or at least sneak out, when sudden rustling abides on your paths and there, just above the meadows, chirping of birds—beautiful yet _incredibly annoying_.

"Because, I, uh—"

"You, what, Kelp?" Lily grinned as she examined her nails, her elbow propped on one side of her desk; with her legs crossed as she positioned her phone comfortably on the edge of her shoulder—in between her ear and blade. "Are you afraid of people finding out about your little teddy?—what was his name again? Trolly, was it?"

And just when Trouble was going to answer—another call was made during their conversation; it was possible, phones these days were high-tech to that small point.

"Oh, wait, Kelp, someone's calling." Lily informed happily.

Trouble just grunted waving off the static and thanking goodness that Lily could not see him from where he was at—he was practically on fire. "Just get on with it."

Lily twisted her lips into a happy grin before plucking up her 'accept call' option on her phone—with Trouble still on the receiver; huh, she thought, it was an unknown number—oh well. It was more fun with having a conversation of three on the phone.

"Hello~?" she purred from her post; Trouble on the other side wanted to vomit, but the other mysterious caller didn't seem to be taking jokes lately—he was a he, and he was apparently—

"Listen to me, Frond."

—Commander Root.

Lily narrowed her eyes while Trouble almost fell down from the chair he was sitting back on where he was; composure forgotten, he spluttered out.

"Commander Root? W-What are you, what the heck are you—"

"Trouble?" The commander asked uncertainly from the other line, but quickly regained his usual grave voice as his brain was done processing. "Good. Two of you are in the line."

Lily raised her eyebrows at this; Trouble immediately knew that something was definitely off tune.

"Commander," Trouble gulped; feeling slightly anxious all of a sudden. "What's the matter?"

"Listen to me," Commander Root said, and in the background they could hear quick and spur shuffling noises and distant barks, and more rustling and paces with tiny plopping sounds, like an object dropping off to a pool of water. "Turn on the TV."

Lily raised her eyebrows higher, curious and alarmed. Trouble was the same; a tiny plucking feeling of dread pooled around his gut, resurfacing and running through his veins simultaneously on each second short—brimming awful conclusions and plans like a movie theater, replaying the bad moments—reaching the climax. "What?"

"Turn on the TV." Commander Root seethed, and they jumped at the tune of their boss—hastily, quick-paced, urgent and _important—"Now."_

They both turned on their TVs.

"Holy—"

"Oh my gosh—"

And the call was ended.

* * *

Artemis stood on the edge of the rooftop; the sirens of the police cars and the screams of the audience felt all too familiar to him, but something was missing, it was, perhaps, a _very_ good thing that his costume was practically all clad in black—all well threaded by the shadows, and adored by the night—the wind, too, itself cradling the raven tresses of the male, of the phantom, of the thief, of _Fowl._

(—that was the case, he was hidden beneath the shadows, the sirens and beams of flashing, _bright, bright, bright_ lights barely missing him on the inch—in only closer blinks more—and he was caught, trapped, found—but no, he was a master of this; he knew what to do with his eyes closed.)

But this was unexpected; he thought as he reached up to his head—where his hat was _supposed _to be, where his _father's_ top-hat was supposed to be.

He sucked on his breath at the sudden pound of headache that suddenly ruptured through his senses—like vast and mighty calm waters of pure intellect, suddenly disrupted and broken by the rocks that slowly loom its way to the soft, light sand; like lightning, can be, striking and clashing its way, ruining the concentration of the waves as they commence in battle.

Artemis was lucky—he still had his mask; but, he thought with the sudden darkening of the clouds; as they swirl and brawl and, there, aah, there, lightning flashing—then gone at the sudden; his hair, his _head_, people could not reach his intellect, oh no, _goodness no_, but they weren't _that _stupid, either, meaning they could easily have a clue that _he _and Fowl were the same person.

And then, ta-dah, the end to his mission!—just like that.

Artemis gripped his fist tightly in his hand—so hard that the gloved-hand's knuckles were brimming with white bloopers on the gaze of the moonlight, tainting him with the guilt he had bared on himself—the dark, heavy clouds were all closing on him—and he could not help but think that—_what if he did not become Fowl in the first place?_

He looked down, and saw the wonderful semblance of cheers and claps and heads turned around frantically—_where's Fowl?—_they would swoon, turn up their gadgets, ask other people, peep on the windows; they miss their _hero._

Artemis snorted; he felt a cold bulge against his pants, and sighed wistfully—there, a barely noticeable object under all the dark valued clothing of silk and night—was it. _The Glowing Verge. _It hid under the many secret pockets and mini-tunnels in Fowl's suit, and it was real handy too.

And then Artemis wondered—the reason why he dropped his top-hat; it never happened before, honestly, so it truly surprised the thief—went dumbfounded, even. And he could not help but—under the cautious beams and alarming sirens; under the competing rays and high-topped grandees; under the bickering yips of the audience beneath—_wonder._

(—a spin kick. It was all it took to cause Artemis a pounding headache and the fall of his top-hat.)

And it was all caused by the newbie too.

And just like that—the door leading to the rooftop was all of a sudden kicked open, as the wind came clashing contra the two individuals standing on the rooftop of the pompous building of Dublin; raven hair thrashing vigorously against the freezing wind that had pummeled its way to the high topped structure, while the other inhabitant glaring at the said person with so much dislike.

Artemis turned—and there, just about next to the door, where her position signifying defense; was her, the captain, the intriguing new inspector that had caused the spark of his new-found interest and amuse; the newbie who kicked off his top-hat—who was now pointing a rather intense-looking gun at him.

"Why; hello, captain."

Holly stared at him in anger before propping medium her gun; bull's eye; she thought—just one more trigger and he'd be a goner. "Give it up, Fowl," she simmered. "You're caught."

Fowl nodded; his mouth formed into a tight line as his gaze discreetly transferred from the gun, to the blazing hot orbs the inspector possessed. "Mhmm."

Holly felt one of her veins threatening to pop; this Fowl guy was taking things too easy for even her own liking, can't he see she had caught him now?—but still, it was dangerous, Fowl could disappear in one moment, and it'd be the end to her almost-success; Holly could not possibly afford the given predicament. "Any last words?" she grunted; almost venomously.

"Yes," he said, as a matter-of-fact, and strolled over with perfect posture, closure to the edge—of the roof, the brims of golden leeway staining bright perplexed crumbs of autumn-like shindigs against his form—bright, strangely; despite the raven brink suit. "I do."

Holly glared, "Make it quick, Fowl."

"But," Fowl pressed, his feet doing a curt jog on the rims of the noble place; the beaming and flashing lights of the police coincidentally missing his form, and Holly had to withdraw the temptation to face-palm of her officers' stupidity. _He's just right there, people!_ She mentally drawled.

"But what, Fowl?" she kept her gun steady; pointing at him despite his moving.

Fowl balanced; seemingly perfectly undisturbed despite the gun pointed strictly on his head, or the fact he was tallying himself on the edge of the museum, if ever his feet would miss, he would fall—but, he was seemingly nonchalant about the matter; like he was used to it.

_He probably is_, thought Holly as she set her igneous eyes on Fowl.

"Dear lady, my last words cannot be prompted as a mere phrase, or sentence; it elucidates on the form of an interrogative mark, aah, shall we say—a mere ask? An inquisition? An inquiry?" He hummed as he stroked his chin, "can be, can be…" he chanted.

Holly's brain seemed to go haywire at the endless jabbering and complex chatters of the genius criminal named Fowl; as the sirens of the red-pulsed and white beaming bells continued to flop aimlessly towards the random pathways of the building; barely missing inches of the raven suited man.

She groaned as her deadpanned gaze went forwards to the bright ravishing stars of twinkling lights above, just barely reachable and awe-worthy against the massive vast of darkness that swelled upon the richness of the blue-ness of the days passing by, as the clouds start huddling by the sheer amount of darkness that threatened to pour down, rain was coming; like police cars brimming with such alarms and whistles, chasing after the platonic crimes away; like impassiveness, yet orbs of bright as the colored swells of gut-feeling warms and twirls.

(—like how she was when she was merely a trainee in learning—how her big hazel eyes went from window, to room, to rooftop, as she followed her resplendent glares on the one and only phantom thief—)

She opened her eyes; _why weren't her retarded colleagues here yet?_

"—and, oh yes, the cognizance of the mere English arrangement had clearly stated in the words of the pros, of the experts, countless of further and quite ardent forensics and dialectics had thrashed about the matter, seemingly caused of presumptions and odds of the mere subject, and—"

Holly groaned and turned to scowl at the never-ending gibbering criminal, when her glare turned into a flabbergasted manner of glazing stuntmen at the smirk directed towards her. T-That Fowl; _he was clearly enjoying this..!_

"Stop yapping, Fowl," she pierced at him, her finger awfully close to the trigger of the gun; Fowl seemed to paid no notice and continued in his calm and playful aura—giving Holly a sense of discouragement. "Just spit it out." She spat.

Fowl let out a toothy grin, before whispering into the air, "I wanted to ask a question,"

Holly almost fell down in brief face-palm-ness. _That was all. _But she kept her mouth shut in a firm lid, knowing that a conversation would only lead to more of what Fowl needed—entertainment.

Fowl sighed wistfully, before opening his mouth and speaking, "What is your name, mademoiselle?"

Holly raised her eyebrows at him, before snarling out, "Cut the crud, Fowl, I'm not in it for games," she advanced forwards expertly, swiftly, before resting about three foot from the criminal. "Just raise your hands slowly, and everything is going to be fine."

Fowl raised his hands, nevertheless, and placed them on top of his head; smiling. "But, dear captain, nothing is fine—I lost my top-hat and the dear lady who has been in front of my current figure refuses to speak of her name."

Holly still kept her mouth such, as impatient as ever to catch the invincible thief in the whole world, as the wetness of the rain seeped towards her clothes; under her uniform and through her hair, soaking her wet under the mighty and strong shrilling weather that had performed its way into the night.

Fowl's form was very much the same; the heavy rain that poured down on them and the clasps of lightning that went flashing against the dimmed darkness did not certainly do anything to have decrease the volume of Fowl's jibs, it only seemed to embrace him more; basking in his scented velvet accent of pure lurks and suave hums.

Intelligently-speaking, to tell.

Holly have had enough, and before she pulled the trigger—containing mere shots of bullets that did not kill, but only put the victim in mere sleep—a flash of beams had erupted through the back, and she thought, with the widening of her eyes—that maybe her colleagues weren't that stupid at all.

_The big booming howls had ruptured much more further against the drumming sounds and thuds of the hard pouring rain—the audience bleeps and shrieks of pure astonishment had went absolutely mental at that point; Holly felt dizzy, all of a sudden, as a flash of lightning once hit the sky bright with zigzag patterns of pure threat, yet beauty, encored in twists of flash pulping lights._

The huge beam had landed squarely on Fowl—like a spotlight with Fowl being the starring. The audience went wild, and the sounding voice of the reporters went mainly focused—all in the name, the subject, the topic of—

"We've caught Fowl! We've caught Fowl! We've caught—!"

But, nevertheless, the audience and the little bash of wild celebration that went under the once-clear of bright lights now pouring down with endless tears of crystal dashes of water went shunned, shocked, stunned—_gaping_, as Fowl swiftly stretched out his arm, and quite speedily, reached out for the triumphed inspector—Holly.

Holly—who was definitely not expecting the sudden movement—went straight to the chest of Fowl, under the beaming spotlight, as Fowl's hands went apace on her waist and the other hand to her mouth; firmly covering it.

Holly widened her eyes—while the crowd underneath the rooftop went absolutely quiet, as the silent whirring of the helicopters above the two individuals went quietly, deadly-silent. The huge beam that was pointed towards the thief and the officer going shell-shocked at it focused towards the both.

Holly—she tried to squirm, her head was dizzy, she could not possible breathe—Fowl's grip on her was too robust, _too strong, _and she felt immense hatred surging towards her as Fowl's breath tingled on her sensitive earlobe, as he whispered in a barely audible tone, only her to hear—

"_Give it up, Short. You're caught."_

Holly felt her breath get caught, as the crowd began to whisper in short, hushed voices—

"Fowl got Captain Short! Fowl got Captain Short!"

"H-How is this possible?"

"He's Fowl, man, I wonder what's he gonna do to her—"

As the cameraman went through their cameras and zoomed on the duo, the reporters talking in fast-paced closemouthed and faint verbal loops—

"This is live in the grand plaza of Dublin's Museum, in where Fowl is seen clearly holding the new inspector for the task force, Captain Holly Short; everyone is wondering what will happen, the officers are at lost without the commands of their inspector—"

But everyone again stopped short when Fowl opened his mouth, and spoken in a loud voice, despite the heavy pouring rain that had slashed its way towards the scenario, and despite the endless whistling of the police cars and the audible sirens—they heard Fowl just clearly.

"I am flattered of all the attention I am not helping yet definitely acquiring." He said with a sardonic smirk plastered on his mouth, (the ladies almost swooned—) "But this night has been quite my most dear of all; this inspector is quite the love, and therefore, I shall help myself into borrowing her, mhmm?"

The crowd gasped; Holly gawked; and then—

A gunshot was heard.

* * *

**A/N: And that's a wrap, guys! **

Aaaaw, are my precious little mentos-minions mad at me? I see; I cannot blame you then. I am very much sorry for the endless cliff-hangs I continue to tease you with, but I am considering the suggestion of **bkaddictjk**, of changing this story into a one-shot, or three-shot, (seeing that it has already come this far...) and I need your suggestions and comments regarding the matter, oh, and what you have thought of this chapter.

And I am thinking, again—aah, yes, it is dangerous if I am thinking—what if I make another sequel?

(My first attempt into making _short_ drabbles; epic fail.)

I shall appreciate reviews, mon ami! And a game, we shall play—the first one to review shall be awarded the next chapter~! (And, aah, who would also be able to guess the message that had laid on Foaly's document when he had uncharacteristically banged his head on the keyboard. Ha-ha!)

Let's say, see you, mon ami! Au revoir! C: *nibbles on mentos*


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